Win One for the Reaper
by zelasswilder
Summary: When a horrible accident kills Bulma and her parents, Vegeta is left to raise Bra and Trunks for a full year by himself while the Z-Fighters wait for the dragon balls to recharge.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes**: Yeah, because every little sadist- er, I mean Vegeta-fan, has to write a fic where Vegeta is left all alone. I put a little spin on it because I hate completely unhappy endings. Bulma is dead but they're going to wish her back with the dragon balls. They just need to wait a year. Why a year? What did they wish for? Maybe Goku depleted the Earth's food source. I might address that question later if it really bugs people. However, this story is more about Bra/Trunks/Vegeta bonding because I'm a sucker for Daddy!Vegeta. I wrote this with I Love the Way You Lie by Eminem playing on repeat in the background… Win One for the Reaper is an instrumental track from the LOST soundtrack, in case you're curious to my soundtracks when I write, hah. Anyway, here you all go. The first installment of my new series Win One for the Reaper.

* * *

The leaves were colored with shades of caramel and deep mahogany. Sweet warm traces of molasses seemed to glaze all the filling foods cooked for the meals of every day as the vegetation slowly died off with the summer season. It was autumn and Vegeta had never been so aware how it was the representation of death until this afternoon.

His hand was laying on little Bra's shoulder, his thumb gently rubbing her skin to soothe the sniffling young girl. The wind whipped her bright blue hair around her face and a leaf with a highly saturated red hue brushed onto her black shoes. She leaned down and picked the leaf up quickly, holding onto it before lifting it up to her father, "It's so red, Daddy," her voice was shaky from tears.

Vegeta looked at the leaf before looking away. All he saw was blood and fire.

Trunks smiled, he was so quiet now that Vegeta found himself forgetting about the young teenager. He knelt down and took the leaf, "You want to take it inside and we can preserve it so you can look at it later?" he asked his sister sweetly. Trunks's eyes were glazed from tears unshed unlike the glassy stoic finish to his father's black orbs.

The wind teased Trunks's tie out from the loose buttoning of his suit, making it whip out and trail behind him like a tiny make-shift cape. Trunks kept his eyes on Bra kindly though as he awaited her response.

Bra looked at him with cerulean eyes before she turned her gaze back up to the Prince, "Daddy, what do you think?" she took the leaf back from Trunks swiftly before thrusting it up at her father. The stem snapped slightly and fell onto her black silk dress before dropping onto the golden dying grass. _Dying…_

Vegeta didn't spare another look at the leaf like he had before. He was staring at that confounded stone in the ground.

Was that really all that a human left behind? Their legacy remained in memories, perhaps, but the physical memories were all brought to one singular point. A small little monument on the ground. A rock. This was all that was left of her- _a rock_.

"Daddy!" Bra's little voice cracked at the end as she demanded his attention.

"Father…" Trunks' voice was soft as he looked up at his father from the ground where he had knelt to be closer to his sister.

Vegeta looked away from the stone before looking back at his children.

Funny. Before the two had been _'their' _children. Sometimes _'her' _children. Now they were only his. He was all they had and they were all he had.

He turned his head back to the stone again.

_Bulma Brief_

There were similar inscriptions on the stones that marked the graves of Bulma's father and mother.

They had all died at the same time. Some experiment gone wrong. Dr. Brief was working with Bulma at his side and then Mrs. Brief had been giving them food, no doubt.

Vegeta had been at the Son's home with Trunks and little Bra when it had happened.

The explosion had wiped out half of Capsule Corporation's main facilities but the repairs had been quick and easy. Technology was easily replaced, after all. Far more easily replaced than that of a person's life.

They had been burned so extremely that Vegeta couldn't even recognize Bulma by the time he got to Capsule Corp.. He had arrived approximately 1 minute after the explosion. Trunks would have followed him but Vegeta had left Bra behind at the Son's house and the small girl had exploded into tears.

She whimpered at his feet, "Daddy," the little girl who looked so much like the woman he loved whimpered, "Daddy, look at the leaf," she stood on her tippy-toes to thrust it up towards him more.

"No."

Bra's breath cut off and she broke into soft tears. Trunks picked her up, shooting his father a look of irritation and pity before taking his sister into the home.

It would take a year before they'd be able to use the dragon balls to wish the three back to life.

Until then, Vegeta would have to raise Trunks and Bra without her.

So far, he wasn't father-of-the-year in any shape or form.

He took a deep breath, lifting his head to stare up at the sky as he watched it slowly change in color from a light gray to a deep navy blue.

"Father! Come inside!" Trunks said from the doorway that led from the home out to the backyard where they had buried the three Brief members for the 12 month duration it would take to let the dragon balls cycle through and then to find them.

It made sense. They couldn't very well leave the three out in the house to rot. Besides, they had smelled bad enough due to their smoldering skin.

Vegeta couldn't imagine explaining to Bra the smell of such extreme decay.

However, he probably could do it. After all, he was well acquainted with the smell of burning bodies and the steps of decay that might follow that he was a very experienced professor.

There was suddenly a hand on his shoulder now and Vegeta jerked away like a wild animal before looking up and realizing the hand belonged to his violet-haired son.

Trunks had his hands lifted palms-out as he looked down with a warmness in his eyes that reminded Vegeta of the old doctor when he had looked at the prince.

"Father, it's been six hours," the boy's voice was soft. He was speaking to Vegeta like he might to soothe a child. "Come inside and eat dinner with Bra and I."

Vegeta scowled, "I'm not hungry."

"Then just come inside…".. _for Bra._

The second part of the sentence seemed to be spoken clearly as day. Vegeta glanced at his son to realize it had been him. Telepathy wasn't something Vegeta ever thought Trunks had been able to do. Of course, his son always managed to exercise his mind more than his other muscles.

The prince turned away from the grave and he walked inside, his boots crunching down on the fallen leaves the entire way to the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes: written to the song of Hide and Seek by Imogen Heap playing on repeat in the background. Not exactly a mood lifting chapter.

* * *

Her lips are caressing his lips like a long-lost phantoms. Vegeta moans in pleasure on the bed. She's dead but the sensations are so real. His dreams were always vivid like this.

Rolling over, she lets him enter her body. It's marvelous. It's absolutely unbelievable. It's not real.

"_Daddy."_

Her bright blue eyes stare down at him enticingly, her hands run over his chest but now the touch isn't as real. Vegeta shut his eyes and lets his lips close. Despite his eyelids being shut, he still sees her curving body and it's then that he knows that this is a dream. His hands lift and start shaking weakly so he lets them fall back onto the covers of the bed.

"_Daddy."_

His chest feels empty, and she starts fading from his sight.

"Bulma…" he opened his eyes and found himself in reality. It's dark in the bedroom but he wasn't imagining one thing. Rolling his head to the side, he sees his daughter- a practical clone of his lost lover- and she's staring back at him.

Those big blue eyes are wide. They're scared and coated by tears.

"Daddy, I can't sleep without Mommy singing to me," she voices in a soft, shaking tone.

The prince closes his eyes for a long time. He hopes when he reopens them, Bra will be long gone and he'll be back with Bulma.

They open. Bra is still there; Bulma still isn't.

"Daddy-y," Bra is on the verge of sobs now.

"She can't sing to you right now," Vegeta finds himself saying harshly.

Bra starts hiccupping now and the tears flood over and fill the room.

Vegeta's eyebrows pull together as he gazed over at his daughter. Finally he grunts and sits up to take her off the floor and set her on the bed.

"Stop that," he orders.

"I m-miss M-Mommy-y-y," Bra sobs.

"Stop that."

"I MISS MOMMY!" Bra wails.

Vegeta puts his hand over her mouth and stares into her wide and sorrow-filled blue eyes. "Stop crying," he growls.

Bra takes his large hand and buries her face into the palm as she cries little soft shuddering sobs into his skin. He sighs and runs his other hand over her hair.

"I miss Momm-m-m-my," she whimpers.

"I know," he breaths out.

The small girl lifts her body up and she scoots closer to the curvatures of her father's body. Slowly she presses her head into his chest and coils up into the fetal position. "Do you miss her?"

"Of course."

There's no question in his voice. He knew life was empty without Bulma and denying it to Bra would be cruel.

Bra tightly grasps the cloth of his white shirt and turns her face into the cotton as she cries.

"You should have gone to your brother," Vegeta murmurs.

"Trunks is too sad. He cries too much. I don't want him to cry with me. He doesn't make me feel better," Bra's voice is small but the words speak volume about the situation they're currently in.

"I make you feel better?" he looks down as the small girl lifts up her eyes to gaze at him.

"Uhuh," she nods as well to accompany her answer.

There's a question in his eyes so obvious that even the toddler can see it. She frowns, "You make me feel safe, Daddy. You don't cry so it must not be that bad," she decides.

Vegeta doesn't even know if he _can_ cry anymore. The first night, he had locked himself in the training room and worked himself so hard that his body stopped working. He had fallen onto his knees and then collapsed completely into a heap on the ground that was wet from his sweat. Gaping for air, he realized that what racked his body was, not only exhaustion, but hard wrathful sobs. He laid there, writhing on the ground with no strength in his body, just crying.

Kakarot had instant-transmissioned to the gravity room. He had seen him there, in the fetal position, his eyes shut tightly as the tears rolled down his face.

He remembers vaguely his death. His first death, at the hands of Frieza. He remembers the tears he had cried then. He remembers grasping out helplessly at the warrior, pleading for him to give their race vengeance. Suddenly, he feels a burning embarrassment deep in his chest. How many times had Kakarot seen him cry? One too many, that was sure.

"Vegeta, I heard what happened…" he takes slow steps toward him. As though Vegeta could do anything in the state he was in.

"Get out."

"I'll help you with your kids-"

There was strength deep inside him after all. Rage bubbled over suddenly and he made it to his feet. "You can't even raise your own family!" Vegeta barked. "You expect me let you near mine! You run off at the slightest sign of commitment. I don't want you building relationships with my children out of pity for us and then running away! Crashing everything down around you, you buffoon! _Get out_!"

Kakarot stares at him with those stupid, innocent, brown eyes. They're naïve. They're ignorant. Vegeta despised them and who they belonged to.

"You have no excuse to take so long, use your instant-transmission and leave me alone."

His voice cracked and Vegeta took a step back from the taller man, still glaring up in his general direction. He felt his face was hot and he could only imagine just how puffy and red his eyes were. How despicable. What kind of prince was he? Honestly, he was pathetic.

Those damned eyes were still locked on his face, taking him in and sending waves of unbearable pity in his direction.

"I'm here for you, Vegeta. You just have to let me help."

"This is not your battle," Vegeta snarled. He stormed over to the larger man and slammed his hands into his chest, trying to force him back.

Kakarot didn't move though. Was the prince's energy that depleted?

The brown eyes soften even more. "Vegeta, you should rest…"

He slammed his fists repeatedly into Kakarot's chest, and, damn, it felt really good. So he just kept on punching him. Over and over he wailed on the younger man.

Finally he realized he was talking.

"It's not fair! It's not fucking _fair_!"

Just over and over he kept screaming it into Kakarot's strong chest while he punched.

However much time that passed between Kakarot's entrance and the pausing of his attack was unknown. Vegeta just sank down onto his knees and stared down at the ground.

"Vegeta-"

"Get out."

Kakarot stood there for about four minutes before sighing, patting Vegeta gently on the shoulder, and leaving him there.

Vegeta passed out in the gravity room. He had no idea who took him back to his bedroom, but that's where he woke up the next day.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Notes: Yeah, here's your third chapter! I could have sworn I had already uploaded this, but I guess I forgot about it. Whoopsy! This installment is much lighter than the first two. I like fluff.

* * *

Training. It made him feel better, so he did it. There was no thinking involved in it, at least none that didn't come as instinctual. Vegeta could train for days and never get sick of the science.

The science of silence. The science of complete—voluntary—isolation. The science that kept those children away from him, though, was the one he truly cherished.

A knock and a beep at the door, now.

"Father?"

Trunks. Maybe Vegeta had spoken too soon. He turned his head to the door after turning off the gravity to see his son enter in a suit, looking like an Earthling slave to appearance.

"What?" Vegeta demanded.

"I have to leave for school, there's an important college conference today," Trunks explained.

"Then leave."

"Well, I'm going to but somebody needs to help Bra get dressed for school and I have to get there early today," Trunks patiently said, keeping blue eyes locked on his father's face.

"And?"

"Can you help her?" Trunks pleaded.

There was no reason that he wouldn't be able to other than his intense personal preference not to do anything outside of training. Vegeta picked up a towel and he wiped his neck clean of sweat as he pondered the question.

"Maybe," Vegeta said.

"Well, I need to know right now whether to take her to Gohan's house so Videl can help her or if I can trust you with it-"

"I'll do it. Just go to your precious conference," Vegeta spat the words at Trunks. He couldn't believe he would even suggest just handing over his sister to those Sons.

Trunks stared at his father for a long moment, "Alright…" He turned and walked out of the gravity room.

Five minutes later and Vegeta was showered and clean, standing in Bra's room over her bed as she slept. Her blue hair was messy around her head in a halo and Vegeta noted that he was blessed to have such aesthetically pleasing children. He had always found Goten and Gohan to have been strange looking, but he knew that had to do with genetics and Bulma had enhanced the gene pool by quite a lot.

Sighing, Vegeta knelt down and nudged his young daughter, "Wake up," he said.

Bra groaned and rolled over, her eyes opening in tired slits, "Huh?"

"You have to go to the education facility today. Wake up," Vegeta said.

"I don't wanna," Bra frowned at him.

Well, Vegeta didn't see any harm in letting her stay, but, if she did stay, she would want him to entertain her. If Trunks had stayed home, Vegeta would have done it without a second thought. However, Trunks was not there. It was only him and his young princess.

"You'll have to go back eventually," Vegeta said, "You might as well do it now."

"Ugh," Bra lifted her tiny body out of bed, letting out a huge yawn as she rubbed at her eyes. "Where's Trunks?" she asked.

"Receiving schooling," Vegeta replied.

"Oh," Bra looked at him now with expectant bright blue eyes.

"What?" Vegeta scowled as he stood up.

"Aren't you going to pick out my school clothes?" Bra inquired.

"No."

"… Can I pick them out!" Bra gasped in excitement.

"Yes."

Bra practically squealed as she jumped out of bed and ran over to her closet, yanking out clothing piece after clothing piece. Vegeta watched with a bemused expression as she had a field day. Bra finally settled on a fluffy pink gown. She walked over and set it on the bed. "I want to wear this," she pointed at it.

Vegeta examined the dress with his lips pursed. "… This was your uniform for that holiday last year," he realized.

"Halloween, silly!" Bra chimed. "I was a princess," she boasted.

He smirked. If only she knew the uniform for female royalty of the Saiyan race—she would be thoroughly disappointed.

"You wear clothing like this to school normally?" he asked.

"Uhuh!" Bra nodded her head furiously.

"Then I approve," Vegeta decided, turning to leave the room now.

"Daddy, my hair is messy," she complained before he could make it into the hallway.

"Then fix it," Vegeta looked over his shoulder at her to see that she was working up tears.

"What?" he scowled.

"I-I d-don't kn-know how!" Bra wailed.

Eyes widening, Vegeta froze. It wasn't as if he had any idea how to fix a girl's hair.

"Today is as good as any other day to build a new skill," Vegeta decided, his tone firm and giving no hint to his helplessness in the current situation.

Bra began sobbing.

_Shit._

Two strides across the room put him in front of her, "We will fix your hair. Where are your supplies?" he demanded.

She hiccupped and pointed to the hallway, "Th-the ba-a-a-a-a-ath-th-th-th-th-th-r-r-r-"

"Bathroom."

"YEAH. THAT-T," Bra bawled.

"Stop that," Vegeta groaned. This was attention crying, and he was very familiar with it. Trunks had done it when he was too young to realize that it wasn't a very masculine thing to do. To Vegeta's displeasure, Bra didn't seem to care how weak it was.

Scooping her up in one arm and using his free hand to grab the dress, he headed off to the bathroom to get the child ready.

He swung the door to the bathroom open and he set her on the counter where Bra adjusted herself accordingly. Her tiny feet hung off the side and she looked up at him with eyes that were suspiciously dry now.

"What?" he snarled.

"Teeth," she pointed to her teeth.

Vegeta leaned forward and examined them. "Your teeth are-" Bra exhaled and he cut himself off before he could say fine.

"Your breath reeks."

She pointed at the toothpaste and then she snatched up a pink tooth-brush, handing it to her father.

He took hold of the pink monstrosity and gave Bra a questioning look. "You're old enough to brush your teeth," he decided.

"I can't squeeze the toothpaste right. I always get too much," Bra sighed dramatically.

Grumbling curse words under his breath, Vegeta snatched up the toothpaste and put the correct amount on the bristles before handing it to Bra who began brushing her teeth. Vegeta didn't understand why she felt the need to hum while she did so but he silently waited for her to finish.

Finally she spit out the white foamy spit into the sink and turned the water on so it would wash down. Handing back the brush to her father, Vegeta realized she had managed to get spit on her tiny chin.

"Wash your face."

"Huh?"

Instead of fighting, which Vegeta was sure would take more energy than what it was worth, he grabbed a washcloth and moistened it. He put it to her face and scrubbed gently before dumping the cloth on the other side of the counter away from Bra.

"I look like a monster with my hair like this!" she chimed, starting to make unattractive faces in the mirror now as though to prove her point.

"Yes," he agreed as he took a brush into his hand. He had seen Bulma brush her hair when it was unruly, so he assumed Bra did the same.

Putting the brush to her blue hair, he slowly brought it down along her scalp and Bra squeaked.

"OW!"

Vegeta stalled. "What?"

"That hurts!" Bra complained.

Maybe Bra's hair wasn't fixed this way. Vegeta pursed his lips in distress.

"Why'd you stop?" Bra asked in confusion, looking at his face in the mirror.

"You were in pain."

"Yeah," she nodded, "So?"

Well, he felt a little bit of pride at Bra toughing through the pain, even if it was solely for the sake of her appearance. He put the brush back to her hair and ran it through a few times until it was smooth as silk once more.

"I want a bow!" Bra used her feet to open a drawer below the counter. It was filled with bows of different colors.

Vegeta tilted his head slightly, "I was unaware of this drawer's contents," he mused, seeming surprised they had a whole drawer dedicated to the bows Bra loved to wear.

She grabbed one and held it to her father who took it with hesitant fingers. Looking it over, his eyebrows pulled together as he figured out the locking and unlocking ability of the accessory. His gaze went to his daughter to see that there was so much room to place a bow. "I want it right here," she seemed to catch onto his confusion and she pointed to the left side of her head.

Vegeta locked the bow in place and she gasped, "Oh! I want another!" and she grabbed a new bow.

This system continued for about two minutes. Bra would pick out a new bow and he would lock into her hair. By the time she finally decided that she had enough bows, there were ten clinging to her blue strands.

She put on her dress now and beamed up at Vegeta, "Do I look pretty?"

"I suppose," Vegeta said, unsure. He was never good with the earthen idea of beauty.

"Yay!" she cheered, giving his legs a hug before she scampered downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast. Vegeta followed her in and he looked at her.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Cake!" Bra cheered.

Well, whatever.

Vegeta fixed her a plate of one of the many cakes Chi-Chi had made them. He wasn't a fan of the harpy, but she made good food and he wasn't against taking it. His belligerence did know bounds, contrary to popular belief.

"Oh, Daddy! There's the bus!" Bra took a huge hand-full of cake, running over to him and she reached up in a pushy fashion. Vegeta leaned down to see what she wanted and she gave him a messy kiss on the nose before scampering out the front door to the school bus that was outside.

Vegeta got up and watched from the window as Bra walked onto the bus with her head lifted up so far that she could barely see the ground. She was filled with so much pride, and it reminded him of Bulma.

If thinking of Bulma didn't hurt so badly, he might just have smiled.

Instead, he turned and walked straight back to the gravity room. He trained there and he slept there and he ignored all the calls from Trunks behind the door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes**: I'm not dead, although I am in college which is almost completely synonymous with it. This is sort of an intercession chapter, just to get me back on this story and brain-storming its plot. In regards to how I portray Trunks and Goten (and, for future reference, the rest of the Z fighters) I am going off of a DBZ timeline. To me, this is how I feel the characters should have progressed. Although I respect GT as it was (a giant disconnected fanfiction dubbed by funimation), I think that its biggest flaw was the weakening of Trunks and Goten's characters. There is almost no connection to who the two boys were as children, in my honest opinion, and I feel the excuse of 'well, they grew up' is used a little loosely. To a certain extent, people change, but to that degree? Eh. I'm going to have to say I disagree. So, as this is my story, I'm throwing a bit of a curveball at the claimed canon by the depictions I use in this story. I hope that adds some clarity.

**TL;DR**: I wrote Trunks and Goten however the hell I wanted to because this is fanfiction and I'm a rowdy risk-taking college student now.

* * *

How long was proper to wait before you break down a door to somebody's private sanctuary? To wait for a few minutes seemed too brief while knocking for hours seemed far too persistent. There was no winning in the current situation, but there wasn't much winning going on in Trunks' life at the moment anyway so he couldn't very well remember what it felt like to have a solid victory, even if it be one as small as getting his father to see the light of day instead of the color-blinding red of the gravity-room.

He loomed outside of the large steel door of the training center, blue eyes locked on the padlocking system to see if it would turn off by way of a scowl or hard glare. He telepathically tried to urge his father out from the depths of his physical activities and instead into the arms of what was left of his family. The first sign of healthy mourning rehabilitation would be a steady beep from the gravity room that would signal Vegeta's emergence. He waited for the beep for a minute that stretched out longer than he could handle.

No beep came. Vegeta's power signature remained recklessly high and centered in a place on the other side of the wall that, without damaging his mother's work(which seemed almost sacrilegious in theory now that she wasn't there to fix his messes), he couldn't reach.

It wasn't surprising that Vegeta was being stubborn. It wasn't as if the stubbornness was a trait that solely lived through Bulma. It hadn't died when she had died and expecting anything less than complete and total difficult and childish behavior from his father had been completely naïve for the teen to think.

Trunks shuffled down the hallways of his home, taking off his tie as he considered his current dilemma. Bra wasn't due back for another hour, and she would be taking the bus so that transportation had been sorted out without him having to fret over it. He supposed he could fix a dinner for the family of three, but Vegeta wouldn't come out for any food and Bra would complain about the food not tasting like Grandma's and then Trunks would just be angry with the entire situation as if he wasn't angry enough with everything as it was.

Nobody was cooperating. He was trying very hard to be a foundation, but he was only 17. This wasn't what he was supposed to be doing right now. Quite frankly, he had college to worry about and he knew his mother would be furious if he put off getting into a prestigious school based solely upon her death. Bulma was very reliant on the dragonballs, and, if the balls were an option, then mourning was not.

Trunks took a seat at the round kitchen table, his hand running along the dark cherry finish before he rested his head on his arm. He wondered if his mother knew just how much disarray she had caused everyone with her passing. Society was in chaos at the mere rumor that she was in a coma (which was what they had told everybody in order to avoid company restructuring of Capsule Corp.), but even the family of Z fighters were all off their usual game.

It was as if somebody had taken a normal every-day scenario and draped it with a grey felt blanket, causing a dreary numbness to fall down upon those who were left in the after-math of the Brief-family explosion. He had seen the immediate anesthetic death caused when he finally had reached the house and looked into his father's eyes.

Before Trunks had set eyes on the burning home, although he could smell it from miles away, he looked at his father. It was something he had learned over the years. If his father was neither shaken nor scared, there was nothing to be upset about. If he was arrogant, he was over-compensating like some sort of endangered peacock and was feeling the need to prove himself. Arrogance was not always a bad thing to see in his father's face, but he knew that it also did not always mean success.

However, when he looked at his father that day, he saw something he had never seen before. Trunks had taken in the sight of Vegeta's soot covered body, the prince's knees pressed into dirt outside of Capsule Corp. while one hand rested on the back of his very tense neck. Trunks found himself circling around to get a look at the face of his father and what he witness was a shocking amount of emptiness before him. The blanket of gray had fallen in the shape of ash and it had already enveloped Vegeta, the prince of all Saiyans, in a suffocating embrace.

It was in that moment that he realized his mother and everybody else who had been inside Capsule Corp. was dead.

It was in that moment that Trunks ran for the carnage that once was his home and began to dig for what might be left of Bulma.

Thinking about the incident caused a chill to rocket through Trunks's body. He sat up, rubbing at his bare fore-arms while he lifted his sculpted body to a completely upright standing position.

He needed a fresh pair of ears. He needed someone to listen to him rant about his father and his problems. He needed his best friend.

He needed Goten.

Trunks pulled out his cell-phone with one hand while using the other to open the door that lead out to the open patio. A swing of his feet over the railing sent him flying into the air. There was a beautiful moment of free-fall before Trunks focused his energy to send himself to the Son house. He had an hour before Bra got home which gave him fourty-five minutes or so with his friend. Hopefully that would be enough to put his mind at ease.

Two thick thumbs tapped at the keyboard of his phone and typed out a message of simplicity. "Expect me."

Goten only had ten seconds to take in the words before he saw Trunks landing on the roof outside his window. The purple-haired corporate heir stared inside solemnly, not saying a word and sending chills down Goten's spine. Sometimes Goten saw Vegeta in Trunks's face and it sort of terrified him. There was a large amount of pain that needed to be experienced before one could start to emulate the man that was the prince of all Saiyans. Ever since the accident, Trunks's scowl had a more genetic gleam and his blue eyes less of a human sparkle.

Trunks was sneering a bit, about to blast open the window out of impatience for the two seconds he was being kept waiting. Goten took a two-step stride and unlocked the latches, letting his friend inside. There was a breeze of wind that made Goten hold his breath and turn to his bed where Trunks had practically leapt as soon as the window had opened.

"I am going insane."

"I didn't want to say anything," Goten replied, teasing a bit to try and distract from the heavy conversation he could feel was about to come.

Trunks was leaning forward, his knees being used for the placement of his elbows. His left hand hung out from his stiff arm while his right was rubbing the back of his muscular neck. "I'm trying everything I can to keep… To…" Trunks faltered.

"To keep?" Goten urged.

"That's not the right word. Uhm." Trunks looked at Goten for a moment, his eyes blank suddenly and then he looked at the wall. "He resents help from everybody, even me. I can't do anything for him."

"Your dad?" Goten yanked at the back of his rarely used desk-chair, swiveling it so he could sit comfortably and listen to Trunks.

The hand that had been rubbing at his neck suddenly slipped up to massage his forehead, as if the question had brought on a sudden wave of anxiety. Trunks grunted, but said nothing.

"Dad said that he isn't taking 'hand-outs'," Goten announced.

"There's a difference between compassion and hand-outs." Trunks's voice was suddenly vicious and his head lifted up so he could stare at Goten through the glare of his father.

"I know I know!" Goten raised his hands quickly. "But that doesn't mean _he_ knows! Your dad has always been a bit… Well, _y_'knooow…"

"He's a pain in the ass. I know." Trunks was back to being morose and his hand slipped back down to his neck while his gaze softened.

"I'm trying really hard to make this work out. It's not as if we don't have the dragonballs. It's not as if this is a permanent thing. I know that, man. I know that." The repetition ended a bit soft. Trunks straightened up slightly, his eyes still directed at the wall. "It's the only thing keeping my head on straight. I _know_ that it's all going to get fixed eventually."

Goten's eyebrows pulled together slightly and his head tilted a bit. Trunks knew it was going to be okay, yet he was still so stressed. The idea of the dragonballs would be enough to keep Goten pleasant through the situation, if he ever had to go through with it so he really didn't get this dilemma.

"Bra is so young. This is just unfair to subject her to. Father is just this time-bomb and she doesn't understand anything except that he's angry and Mom is gone," Trunks mumbled.

"She's young enough, she probably won't even remember this la-"

"You say that as if you don't remember the years your dad was gone. As if I don't remember when Father blew himself up because of Majin Buu. That pain is absolutely resounding and time doesn't make you forget it, it just piles on more crap so you have less of an opportunity to come to terms with it."

The words had been quick and almost mechanic, as if they were something that had been juggled around in the teen's mind for many years and had now been given a sudden outlet to jump through. Trunks turned his head from the wall finally and looked at Goten, silence entering the room.

"Death happens, man." Goten honestly didn't understand.

"You're so used to this." The royal heir's face was suddenly one of soft sympathy.

Goten's face, however, was simply perplexed. "Well, it's going to work out in the end. No need to stress about it now, am I right?" The teen then offered a positive grin up at Trunks who had now made it up to his feet.

Trunks took a deep breath. "It's going to work out in the end."

"That's what I said," Goten said with a chuckle. "It always does, why would this time be any different?"

Trunks smiled. "It always works out."

There was a swift breeze that caused Goten's long hair to whip around and hit him square in the face. The abrupt exit had left the windowpanes gently flapping against the side of the Son house as Trunks headed back to his own home with one thing in mind.

It always works out.


End file.
